Page 10 of A Cursed Bride for the Duke
Marianne leaned towards Genevieve, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “The Duke of Ravenshire made quite a sensational entrance.” She raised her hands skyward, her fingers splayed dramatically. “He stormed into the ballroom likea vengeful spirit. They say he has been meddling with strange powers in foreign lands. Witchery, even.”
“Witchery?” Genevieve toyed with the needle she had been using moments before as a faint chuckle escaped her lips. “Is that not a touch melodramatic?”
Marianne nodded, her mischievous grin widening. “It appears that Lord Beaumont has some unresolved matters with the Duke,” she continued, her voice tinged with delight. “The exact details of what transpired between them remain a mystery, but Lord Beaumont was utterly devastated.”
Genevieve pushed the needle through the fabric with a bit too much force and winced at the sharp sting on her finger.
Marianne continued, her hand gestures synchronizing with her words. “But the Duke of Ravenshire… oh, he was not to be trifled with. He revealed some sort of document—a contract, I am told—which he presented to Lord Beaumont.” At that point, she was speaking so quickly that she was running out of breath “It seems that the Duke declared before everyone that he had become the rightful owner of all of Beaumont’s debts and estates.”
Genevieve’s mind was reeling. The Duke of Ravenshire had done this to Lord Beaumont? A figure held in such high regard by the Ton? And with such disdain for his position?
She could hardly wrap her head around it, even if she believed it to be true. What sort of man would make such anaudacious declaration in front of everyone? The story seemed too outrageous to be true.
Yet, echoes of the Duke’s note to her from two days ago still hung heavily in the air. But was he not simply playing with her?
“The entire room was aghast,” Marianne continued, her eyes wide. “Lord Beaumont was renderedspeechless.” She almost screamed the last word. “The Duke only laughed at him.”
Genevieve set aside her needle and embroidery, rested her chin on the palm of her hand, and brushed her index finger across her lips.
“It seems that the Duke is on a mission of vengeance,” Marianne chirped. “The Ton is frantic with speculation. They are spinning all sorts of stories about him. That he has dabbled in the dark arts, that he found a secret treasure in Europe and now intends to purchase all of London, that he deals with the Devil—you know how they can be.”
“Yes, I knowexactlyhow they can be,” Genevieve said dryly.
Marianne’s eyes went wide as she gasped, instinctively covering her mouth with her hand. “Oh, forgive me. I did not mean?—”
“Do not fret over it.” Genevieve forced a smile, attempting to mask her growing unease. “It all seems rather sudden and dramatic, does it not? It makes me quite suspicious of his true intentions.”
Marianne nodded, her expression solemn. “Indeed. Yet, all those who were present that night share the impression that his behavior was nearly demonic. Now, everyone is wary of his next move, whatever that might be.”
As Genevieve’s thoughts wandered back to the wedding dress and the note, a sense of surrealism enveloped her. He could not be serious about wanting to marry her.
And yet, a nagging feeling lingered in the back of her mind, filling her with a sense of unease that she could not quite shake off.
Suddenly, a bolt of lightning illuminated a long-forgotten and deeply buried memory.
“Goodness,” Genevieve gasped, placing a finger on her lips. “His father, the late Duke, was the one who swindled my father out of his fortune! I just remembered.”
Marianne’s jaw dropped. “Indeed! Oh, Genevieve, do you think he might be coming for you too? Seeking his revenge like he did with Beaumont?”
Genevieve waved a dismissive hand. “That is hardly a concern anymore. It has been years. Also, the Duke and I have never met.” She shrugged. “It is merely a strange coincidence.”
Marianne began to twirl a loose strand of her hair. “But, Genevieve, the rumors surrounding him, his behavior at the ball… it all seems rather ominous, would you not agree?”
Genevieve chuckled lightly. “Oh, Marianne, you must not believe everything you hear. Gossip is fickle, prone to exaggeration and positively littered with embellishment. I am certain that the Duke is harmless. If I were you, I would be more concerned for his well-being than mine. His nerves sound strained.”
“But—”
Genevieve reached her arm across the table and gently patted her friend’s hand. “Truly, Marianne, there is no need for concern. I am sure the Duke is merely seeking attention, nothing more.”
Marianne bit her lip, her gaze filled with apprehension. “If you say so, dear…” she trailed off.
“I am not worried about it,” Genevieve replied, casting a sidelong glance at the window, where rays of sunlight broke through the red velvet curtains. “Pray tell, how is Owen faring?”
“Oh, he is—” Marianne began, but her words were abruptly cut short by a commotion just outside the parlor doors, which suddenly burst open.
Genevieve and Marianne both bolted upright and turned their heads towards the unexpected noise.
Marianne gasped as she saw a tall, broad-shouldered, imposing figure looming in the doorway. The light from the hallway haloed his silhouette and accentuated the sharp angles of his face.
